


If You Wanna Play

by blueandbrady



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 18:36:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueandbrady/pseuds/blueandbrady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn't know what he's really asking for. Nick shows him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Wanna Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [estrella30](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/gifts).



> Written as a (late) birthday present for the lovely estrella30. She gave me a list of things she wanted and this is what happened. It somehow developed a lot more pesky feelings than originally intended, so I hope you still like it!

“What are you -- Styles!” Nick yelps, turning around and catching Harry’s hands in his. Harry grins up at him with glassy eyes, and Nick sighs. “I told you to stop that. Hands to yourself, Popstar.”

Harry shrugs, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and Nick is so, so, so done with him tonight. If they both weren’t pissed and Nick weren’t worried about Harry ending up on the front page of some tabloid in the morning, he’d have sent him on home in the cab.

“Don’t move,” Nick says, and turns back around, getting out his keys. He’s just got the door open and one foot inside when Harry gropes his bum again, making him drop the keys and almost fall. “Harry Styles, I swear --” He cuts off because Harry starts laughing and plasters himself to Nick’s back, arms circling Nick’s waist.

Harry is the cuddliest drunk. Nick usually loves it but not when he forgets being this handsy actually does things to Nick and makes him think about things he can't have. Then he's just curly hair, a fit body, and the deadliest dimple out to ruin Nick's life.

"Grimmy," Harry says. "Grimmy. Do you know what tonight was?"

Nick preemptively rolls his eyes. "What?"

Harry starts laughing, deep, amused rumbles Nick can feel against his back. " _Ass_ tounding," he says, and then squeezes Nick's right buttcheek firmly.

Nick huffs. “Okay, that’s it, we’re done here,” he says, untangling himself from Harry and escaping into his flat.

“Niiiiiick,” Harry whines, following him. He stumbles a bit as he kicks the door closed, falling back against it to remove his boots. He leaves them in the middle of the floor as usual, but Nick is not taking the chance of going near him again to put them away. “Nick, come back.”

“No,” Nick says, staying in the kitchen. He is not hiding because it is his kitchen. He refuses to think of himself hiding from Harry in his own flat. He grabs a glass off the counter and fills it with tap water, swallowing it down and then another.

"Nick, I'm sorry, I won't touch your bum any more," Harry says, appearing in the kitchen. He's lost his trousers and shirt somewhere along the way and all that's left are some dumb ankle socks and the tiniest, tightest pair of black boxer briefs Nick has ever seen. His cock looks _obscene_ bulging out the material. He should have sent Harry home.

"Christ, where are your clothes?" He turns around. He should do something. Like make tea. He should make tea.

"Gone," Harry says, voice much closer than it was a second ago. A moment later, Harry's draped over Nick's back again, arms wrapped around his waist. "Clothes are dumb. Oppressive. You should take yours off, too." He finishes the sentence with a sharp tug on Nick's belt, pulling it loose.

Nick catches one of Harry's hands and squeezes. "I thought I told you to stop."

"You said to leave your bum alone," he says, forehead against the back of Nick's neck. "I am."

"You're a menace," Nick mutters, and tentatively lets go of Harry's hand so he can fill the kettle.

"Heyyyy." Harry bites Nick's shoulder and Nick ignores him. He needs to make this tea, force it down Harry's throat, and then go to bed.

But Harry apparently has different plans because while Nick is innocently going about filling the kettle, Harry slides a hand down the front of Nick's jeans and gropes him through his pants.

"Harry Styles!" Nick yelps. He drops the kettle and spins them around, crowding Harry up against the sink. That’s it. Harry Styles must be stopped. Nick is past that age where you grab each other's dicks for a laugh. If a bloke touches his dick, it starts thinking things. "I warned you,” he says, using the couple of inches he has on Harry to loom over him. Harry looks nervous under that layer of vodka infused bravery for the first time tonight. Good. He should be scared. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” 

They’re pressed so close that Nick feels the shiver that goes through Harry, and he meets Nick’s eyes despite the blush blooming across his cheeks. He looks determined, which usually spells disaster for Nick. “‘m gonna finish it,” he says quietly, and very slowly, very deliberately, slides his hand over the front of Nick’s jeans again, long fingers tracing the outline of Nick’s cock. 

It hits Nick like a punch to the gut how much he wants this. It’s always been something distant in the back of his mind, but now -- “Damn it, Harry,” Nick groans, and surges forward, crashing their mouths together. Harry moans, arms flailing out in surprise before settling around Nick’s shoulders, fingers scrambling to hold on against the onslaught. Nick doesn’t think he’s ever felt this desperate for someone before, and definitely not this soon. “You started this. You want this,” Nick says in broken chunks against Harry’s mouth, already maneuvering them out of the kitchen.

“I want this,” Harry agrees, stumbling, tripping over both his and Nick’s feet in their haste and refusal to disconnect. 

Nick’s bedroom is a mess and they both go down in an undignified heap on the bed, Nick rolling on top. Harry has _no idea_ what he's playing at and Nick just really needs to show him that this is not a game, that fooling around with a gay man is not the same as fooling around with a curious mate or a girl. 

“You want this,” Nick says again, touching as much bare skin as he can while Harry just lies there and lets him. 

Harry nods. “I want this.” 

“Okay.” Nick shakes his head, trying to clear the fog that’s settled. “Okay. Turn over then,” he says, sliding off Harry’s thighs. 

Harry gives him a questioning look but turns over nonetheless, getting on his hands and knees. He shifts a bit until he’s comfortable, hanging his head and spreading his thighs, and Nick curls his fingers around the waistband of Harry’s pants and tugs before he talks himself into something else. Harry silently lifts his legs to help Nick get them off. 

Nick cups Harry's small bum with both hands and spreads his cheeks wide, exposing him to the cold air of the flat. "Oh, god," Nick hears faintly, and then he leans in, licks a firm line around the rim before pulling back far enough to see Harry's knuckles go white around a handful of comforter. "Ohhh, my god." 

Nick grins to himself, leaning back in. He starts slow, building it up and teasing before he works his tongue inside, firms the tip to press in with hard, shallow jabs. Harry cries out.

"Oh, my god. Nick, oh my god. Nick --" 

It is extremely satisfying to hear Harry say his name in that voice, and Nick is going to hear it echoing around his head when he wanks for _weeks_. 

"Nick, I can't, I can't --" 

Harry's knuckles are so white around the blankets and the sheets have come untucked and in between telling Nick he can't do whatever it is he obviously wants to do are these raw, wet gasps. He sounds overwhelmed. 

“Still want this?” Nick asks, pulling back long enough to suck one finger into his mouth and get it wet. It might be too much, but Harry needs to know what he was begging for. 

“Ye - s -” Harry jerks when he feels the finger touch his rim and then -- "Oh, fucking hell, fuck, fuck, fuck --" His voice cuts out, turning into a long, high pitched whine, and his elbows give out. Nick grins. 

He's not nearly wet enough for a proper fingering, so Nick stays shallow, uses his tongue to twist and fuck in deep. It seems to be good enough for Harry if the little pained noises he's making are anything to go by. 

"Still with me, Harold?" 

"Nggh, m'gn die." 

Nick laughs. "Please don't." 

Harry whimpers, and then Nick hears his hand on his cock, flying over it roughly. He's going to regret that later, but Nick isn't going to tell him how to wank. 

Nick barely has his tongue back inside him when Harry clenches down, hips jerking away as he curls in on himself and comes. Nick lets him go, doesn't chase after him until he's stopped jacking himself and he starts shaking. 

"Nick," Harry gasps, reaching out blindly, clinging when he makes contact. "Niiick."

"I'm right here," Nick says, tugging Harry close. Harry drops his head on Nick's chest, breathing heavy. “You okay?” 

"Mm." Harry nods without picking up his head. "Liked that," he says. 

Nick bites down on a smile. He knows he’s good at it, but knowing Harry liked it, well. "It's good, innit?" he says instead. 

"So good," Harry agrees, already sounding sleepy. It’s not surprising considering how much he drank. Nick’s still hard and fully dressed but he can deal. He already got more than enough tonight. 

“I need -- I’m gonna pop into the shower. You go ahead and sleep,” Nick says, sliding out from underneath him. Harry yawns and curls into the blankets. In the middle of the bed. Nick huffs and grabs the sheet, dragging Harry to the left side of the bed. “You’re a pain. Now stay there because I am _not_ sleeping on the sofa.”


End file.
